


Spring Blooms

by Anonymous



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Angst, Frottage, Infidelity, M/M, Mentions of past mpreg, Scissoring, Squirting, Tentacles, Weird Biology, like... kinda those things. sorry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-31
Updated: 2018-07-31
Packaged: 2019-06-19 07:05:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,942
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15504975
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: The seasons are hard to clock in LA. Mike squints sore against the sun’s setting rays dye the sky orange, later than they had the day before. It had never gotten that cold. It’s not going to get much warmer. Still, with a certainty that loosened his limbs at the joints and rolled his stomach, the season was over.





	Spring Blooms

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Blossom](https://archiveofourown.org/works/15445101) by [elenajames](https://archiveofourown.org/users/elenajames/pseuds/elenajames). 



> This feels very out of left field for me!!!! Thank you anon collection!!!!! Might not make sense if you haven't read the inspo fic! The tentacles are sea anemone! Set in early 2015!

The seasons are hard to clock in LA. Mike squints sore against the sun’s setting rays dye the sky orange, later than they had the day before. It had never gotten that cold. It’s not going to get much warmer. Still, with a certainty that loosened his limbs at the joints and rolled his stomach, the season was over.

“I don’t get why you won’t just fucking do it,” Jeff is saying. Jeff had had a spectacular (futile) season. Rookies look look up to him. He fits well. Steady veteran. Good husband. Beautiful home.

Mike has a beautiful home of his own, one that never judged or questioned his decisions. He flexes his hand on his drink, just water, and says, “Why don’t you carry one, if you think it’s such a great idea?”

Jeff stiffens. He’s done it before, of course he has. They both did. One and done, for Philly, they agreed. Jeff had hated it, even more the second time. Everyone knew it. Columbus still boos him for it, like his misery still stunk up Nationwide.

Of course, the simple answer is that he doesn’t need to now. His jersey sales cover more than a clutch from Mike would.

“Can I ask you a question, Cartsy?” Mike says, then continues without an answer. “How does Megan feel about your little, you know, surprise package?”

“Fuck off,” Jeff answers, sharp and quick. His face flushes from either anger or embarrassment. It’s enough to satisfy Mike. He shrugs. It’s a surprise when Jeff grits out, “It doesn’t… with her.”

Mike’s eyebrows go up without him meaning for them to.  _ “Really? _ Would’ve thought that got frustrating.”

Blooms are discrete, tucked up between their legs and easy to hide in shame and from whatever random body found their way into a player’s bed through the years. But it’s been a part of their bodies for a long time. Ten years at the start of next season. They’re in no way strangers.

“I really don’t need you speculating on my sex life, Mike,” Jeff says. He’s fidgeting the longer Mike watches him, and, well. Mike has never been one to leave a stone unturned, an itch unscratched.

“I’m not saying anything about you. Just when I go that long, it just starts to  _ ache. _ Like, you know, the same as when you go too long without getting your dick sucked, getting it wet, no one to really  _ fuck  _ you—”

“Alright,” Jeff says loudly. He starts banging away in his kitchen, putting shit away.

“And all in all, I don’t think having a small colony of alien eggs living in my gut is going to help in the pursuit of any of my goals this summer,” Mike concludes.

_ “Alright,” _ Jeff repeats. “Piss off Lombardi, shoot yourself in the foot, see if I give a fuck.”

“Why would I expect that?” Mike asks. The look Jeff levels on him is searing.

He doesn’t know how things got so twisted. Even now, he can feel their long histories twined between them, but it’s slippery, too, and there’s a charge in the room that Mike can’t quite place. He feels like he’s just smashing buttons to see what happens. He’s not sure it was a purposeful thing when a familiar, heated look settles on Jeff’s face.

When Jeff wraps a hard hand around Mike’s bicep and pulls, he half-expects to be escorted to the front door, thrown out with the memory of this conversation, everything shallow and easy the next time they see each other. Instead, Jeff only twists Mike around and half drags him off of the bar stool. When fingers start tugging roughly, impatiently at his waistband, something molten unfurls in Mike’s stomach. He cants his hips forward and lets his legs fall farther apart as Jeff pulls his shorts down and off.

It’d been awhile before this, but Jeff’s hands still have a rushed familiarity to them, certain as they hike one of Mike’s legs up over his arm before fingers start massaging, firm and precise, at the hidden swell of his bloom. Jeff is still good at what he does. Mike feels himself loosening, unfolding, the ring of small, soft tendrils curling out to brush against his thighs, his balls, the wide palm of Jeff’s hand. From here, Jeff doesn’t shy away, pressing more firmly until Mike can feel the bloom practically sucking Jeff in, as greedy and eager as the rest of him. 

He can already feel the wetness building and dripping down his ass when Jeff brings his fingers to the center and presses. Mike barely has a second to shiver at the possibility of it before two fingers are sliding in. It feels different than getting fucked the normal way, tighter and more sensitive. Not exactly built with recreation in mind. It’s hard to keep his knees spread for Jeff as he roots deeper, to the knuckle.

The pressure of it is makes Mike squint, toes curl. He still notices when Jeff uses his free hand to push his own pants down around his thighs. His cock is gratifyingly hard, long and thick and perfect, but Mike still hisses. “Don’t fuck me.”

Jeff looks at him. “What?” he demands.

“Come on, you know it sucks that way,” Mike says. It isn’t a whole truth. They both remember being young and fresh and being obsessed with what they could do to each other. It’d been nothing compared to growing an entire flora within themselves. 

That knowledge seemed to have ruined the fun a bit, thinking back.

Jeff stares long enough that Mike starts making alternative plans. Jeff can finger him, he’ll suck Jeff off, they can both tuck this away as another misstep among many, call it a day. 

Instead, Jeff curses. He manhandles Mike onto the ground, keeps his legs high on his hips even as Jeff shoves a hand down past his own dick. Their eyes catch for a second, but before Mike can figure out what he sees there, Jeff ducks down, mouths at Mike’s neck. More teeth than anything. Mike wraps a hand around the back of Jeff’s neck and holds him there.

Jeff groans from deep in his chest. Mike twists his hips up higher and can’t keep himself from gasping when his bloom catches against Jeff’s own. By design, they maybe shouldn’t fit together so perfectly, but they do. They really fucking do. Mike wonders sometimes if Jeff even remembers, but he has to. No way could his eyes catch fire that fast otherwise.

He leans back, dick hard and leaking against his stomach, but it’s nothing compared the slickness gathering between them. Mike can feel Jeff thrumming and pulsing against him, tentacles shivering as they rub against each other. He can’t help to try and twist closer, but Jeff grabs hold, presses their hips together hard enough that they both groan and then keeps going, grinding their blooms together, their sensitive centers and searching tentacles. 

They twist together so well it gets hard to pull apart, but it feels good to try and then to get pulled back together as close as they can. Jeff is good at it, finding a rhythm like the tide, overwhelming and crashing over them both.

The floor is cool against Mike’s back. Jeff isn’t being particularly careful, more hungry than cruel, and Mike can feel a dry grinding as he tries to brace back with his shoulders. 

He feels like he’s melting out the core of himself. It’s so good he can feel his stomach trembling, like his entire body can rearrange around his throbbing in his bloom.

Mike reaches out blindly for his cock, squeezing it tight mostly as a distraction. He’s not sure what to do with his hands. He wants to touch Jeff, his golden skin and perfect whole body and his flushed pink dick, but he’s worried it’ll snap him out of whatever trance he’s in that has all this want and care plain on his face.

His thighs feel so slick. He’s practically drowning in it. It’s both impossible to keep his eyes on Jeff and to look away, the frantic edge that’s overcome his entire body, curling down around Mike, holding his thigh and his side so tight Mike hopes they bruise. Nothing else seems to be holding him together except the tightening mess between them, and even that threatens to dissolve him. There’s no purchase to be found on the floor, so he keeps squeezing his dick, tighter, jerky. 

If come splashes onto his stomach, it’s nothing compared to the flood between his legs, bloom pulsating along with Jeff’s, hot and salty and so fucking wet.

Mike doesn’t notice when Jeff comes. It feels like a crime. He holds his breath very carefully as he watches him come down, panting loud and fast. It doesn’t take long for Jeff to reach down between them to untangle the blooms and pull them apart. Mike feels another small, warm tidal wave down his thighs.

He’s lying in quite the puddle. He’s not sure whether to be grossed out or proud.

“Jesus christ,” Jeff says. He kneels back and drives heel of his hands hard into his eyes.

Mike shifts. Things always cool too fast, tacky and uncomfortable. He doesn’t wait to be told to get up.

It takes a lot of paper towels and some adventurous angles to approach “dry enough.” The scent lingered. He could’ve asked to use one of Jeff’s many showers, but didn’t. Jeff is still toeing at the towel he lied down over the mess they made together. Hopefully, he’s gotten better at laundry through the years, chips in enough for an extra load to look normal.

After disappearing the towel to some other part of the hous, Jeff sprays a measured amount of Febreze in the offending area before throwing open an entire glass wall of his house, because California is so agreeable like that, so pleasantly warm and bug-free that so much can be broken down and melded together without a second thought, except for what can’t be.

The sun has set.

Mike is so suddenly, deeply tired that it feels like gravity is trying to drag him through the floor. His head feels too small, throbbing with too-big thoughts.

He’s still weighed down to the couch when the front door opens. Claws scrabble against wood flooring, Jeff’s tiny and then Megan appears, all lycra and tanned and blonde. A perfect match for Jeff.

“Oh!” she says, when she sees Mike watching her. “Hey, Mike. I didn’t know you were coming over.” 

She says it nicely, but Mike has to make an effort not to sneer or roll his eyes or do anything else unpleasant with his face. He really does get along with her, most of the time. “Yeah, just stopped in for a minute. Probably get going soon.”

“You don’t have to, we’d love to have you for dinner.” She smiles at him, before going to her husband, who reaches out and touches her hip, not even to guide her closer, but she does, accepting the kiss he presses to the crown on her head.

“Nah, really, it’s cool,” Mike says. If he had any self preservation, he should leave right now, but he has to say hello to Mack and Bo and Miley. 

He’s on the floor again, knees aching, christ, he’s getting old, when Megan speaks again. “So what are you doing this summer, Mike?”

Mike glances up. Jeff still has his eyes glued on her. Something settles deep and sore.

“I don't know. Probably gonna head back up to Kenora at some point.”


End file.
